


The Calling

by Eclectic_Goddess



Category: Supernatural, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angels, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eclectic_Goddess/pseuds/Eclectic_Goddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is calling Daryl.  He just ain’t listening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Calling

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through 3x6, though I decided to push off some of the bad things that happen toward the end of that episode to give the group a few days of peace before all hell broke loose again.
> 
> You don’t need to know much about Supernatural for this story, except for this: In the Supernatural-verse, angels can only appear on earth by possessing a human vessel, but unlike demons, the vessel has to be willing. Shame some vessels are just so stubborn.

The first time it happened, Daryl was in a Walmart. Things were getting pretty bad. The news had been saying there was some sort of virus, spreading quick. People were dying, and other people were getting scared. They were crammed into every aisle with any sort of food, medicine, or weapon. No actual fights had broken out yet, but Daryl had watched several shoving matches diffused by the mere fact that the crowds kept pushing between the potential combatants. Merle was in there somewhere, his eyes alight with a mad kind of glee as he bullied his way toward the beer case.

Daryl had gone around the store the long way, cutting through electronics with the hope that he could slip into the guns and ammo department. They had plenty of both, but he’d been needing new lube wax for his bow for a while now, and a few extra arrows wouldn’t hurt, either. He was hoping there might be some of both left, since most of the shoppers he’d seen seemed to be favoring shotguns.

He was standing in front of one of those ridiculous flat screen TVs trying to decide if it was worth elbowing his way through when he heard it. For a moment, he thought someone had pulled the fire alarm, but the sound wasn’t right, and no one else seemed to notice. He glanced around, wincing as it grew louder, but couldn’t find the source. On the TV next to him, the news anchor who had a second ago been talking about emergency services down in the Atlanta area was now just sitting there, looking out of the screen. Looking at him.

Daryl flinched away, covering his ears with both hands against the rising howl. The floor seemed to be trembling beneath him, but nothing on the shelves so much as wobbled, and he realized that he was the only thing shaking. Suddenly, he knew he could stop it. He knew how. He’d always known. He just had to say the words.

_Yes. Yes, I am ready._

There was a gunshot then. Close. Inside. It was followed by screams and running, and then a second shot. Turning away from the crowd and the sound, Daryl said, “Fuck this shit.”

He needed to find Merle, and they needed to get the hell out of there.

 

The second time, Daryl was in his truck, trailing along in their pathetic convoy to the CDC. They were picking through the snarl of dead traffic, moving slower and slower the closer in they got to town. Daryl drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and thought on who was the bigger fool; Rick Grimes, for thinking that they were going to find some safe haven, or himself, for following him.

They’d left Jim behind just yesterday, sitting under a tree by the side of the road. He could be dead by now, dead and risen again as a walker. That was still gnawing at him. Getting to be a habit, leaving people behind. First Merle, then Jim. He didn’t want to think about who might be next.

In the back of his head, Daryl could still hear his brother, growling, _They gonna leave you behind someday, too, brother. You ain’t one of those people. You ain’t nothing to them._

“Shut up, Merle,” Daryl said out loud.

He wasn’t sure what made him reach for the knob of his radio. Habit, maybe, because he sure as hell wasn’t expecting to hear no Metallica or GnR or, hell, even Johnny Cash. Most of the dial was nothing but dead air or static. He hit a station with an obviously pre-recorded alert message, warning people away from Atlanta, and wondered for a moment how the broadcast station still had power.

Maybe it was due to the enclosed space of the truck’s cab, or maybe it was because he still had one hand on the radio, but this time the sound hit him like a live wire. His whole body jerked back into the seat, head thumping off the window behind him, and only old instinct got his foot off the gas before he plowed into the back of Dale’s RV. He grit his teeth and managed to keep one hand on the wheel.

When he was little, he’d had spells. Epilepsy, maybe, his mama used to say, in hushed conversations with his pa. He never went to no doctor, though, and his pa’s cure for his spells was the same as his cure for everything. The back of his hand, or his belt, or the lit end of a cigarette. Sometimes Daryl could remember flashes of light, funny smells, but he didn’t ever remember them coming with a noise like this.

It filled the air around him, seeming to rattle the dash and his bones. He thought the windshield would shatter with the force of it. This time there was a voice in there somewhere, too, whispering and shouting and insistent.

All Daryl had to do was say yes.

Instead, he yelled, “Shut the fuck up!”

Twisting sideways, he brought his boot up. It was awkward, but he managed to smash his heel down into the radio. He stomped again and again until the sound began to die away. When most of the radio had been reduced to broken plastic and hanging wires, he yanked it free of the dash and tossed it in pieces out the window.

If the people in the cars behind him noticed anything at all, at least none of them said anything.

 

The third time, Daryl lay in one of Hershel’s nice comfortable beds, dirtying up the sheets. His head was throbbing, and his side burned. No painkillers, Hershel insisted, in case he had a concussion. He had to make due with a couple of weak asprin, the whole while dreaming of Merle’s stash, still tucked away in his saddlebags. There were plenty of things in there that would make him forget all about his shitty day, concussion or no.

The Merle he’d seen down in the ravine had been a hallucination, but Daryl still knew that his brother had saved him. Years ago, when they were still kids and Merle had kept pushing him down, just to make sure that Daryl would always get back up. Thrown from a horse, fell down a ravine, got impaled on one his own arrows, nearly eaten by walkers, and then shot in the head, and he still got back up.

Andrea had been all tears and apologies for shooting him, and damn straight, too. Bitch had nearly killed him. Now he imagined she was downstairs with the others, enjoying a nice dinner while he lay there in pain. Rick hadn’t even sent anyone to check out the place where he’d found Sophia’s doll, making some noise about sending someone tomorrow, instead.

Shitty fucking day.

He’d been so close to Sophia, too. She was somewhere nearby, just waiting to be found. He could feel it.

It wasn’t loud this time.

It was quiet, like a low frequency hum, but it still spread though the room and through his bones and down into the bed. He jerked and grimaced as it pulled the stitches in his side. Looking around, he found no TV or radio, nothing more than an old clock on the dresser, but the voice was still there.

_You are chosen._

Daryl forced himself to lay back, to breathe. He’d hallucinated Merle back in the ravine, but this wasn’t like that. Merle wasn’t here now, just the voice and the rattling hum.

_You are needed._

“Go to hell,” he muttered. The words didn’t carry much bite. He was tired, and his head hurt, and he knew somehow that giving in would be easier. It would be so easy.

_You can not save these people._

But that…that pissed him off.

“I’m gonna find her.” He set his teeth and glared at the empty room. “I ain’t going nowhere. I’m gonna find her. Fuck off and leave me be.”

And it did. Everything went still again, the silence broken only by the clock ticking and the distant hum of voices. Daryl took a deep, shaky breath and rubbed a hand over his face.

There was a knock then, and the door opened to reveal Carol, with a tray of food.

 

They’d let their guard down once they’d gotten into the prison. It had been too easy to look at the thick walls and the high fences and relax for a little while.

Then that stupid prick prisoner had let the walkers in again, and they’d lost T-Dog and Lori and almost lost Carol. It was a hard lesson, but they learned it.

Daryl had been quick to volunteer for the night watch. He told the others that he didn’t like sleeping inside the cellblock anyway, but in reality, he liked watching the sun come up. As a kid, he used to slip out of the house early, when it was still full dark, the best time to look for game. Sometimes, he wouldn’t hunt at all, just find a tree to perch in and watch as the stars grew fainter and the horizon began to glow. A new day coming. Another chance.

When Glenn came back in from evening watch, Daryl started his by making a round through the parts of the prison they’d secured, just to make sure they still were. Then he walked along the line of the fence, killing any walkers that got close enough with a thrust of his knife through the links. He finished by checking the padlocks on both the inner and outer gate.

Finally, he climbed the guard tower closest to the courtyard. Glenn and Maggie’s tower. The thought made him grin as he grabbed a chair to pull out onto the walkway. He positioned himself at a corner, so he could look down at the prison but easily see the gate, too. It was a nice night. In another life he might have longed for a six-pack or maybe a blunt or two to pass the time. Instead, he propped his feet up on the railing and settled his crossbow into his lap to check the serving.

Daryl had been there for a long while and was considering another circuit of the fence when a shoe scuffed against the concrete on the walkway beside him.

He was on his feet before he knew it, bringing the crossbow up and around, falling back to give himself room for a shot. A man stood next to his chair as though he’d been there all along. He wore a rumpled suit and trench coat and an expression of intense weariness. Not a walker, but…wrong. Wrong in a way that made Daryl’s guts clench and the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“What the fuck-”

“Daryl Dixon.”

“How the fuck did you-”

“I am Castiel.”

As if that told him everything. Daryl waited for something more of an explanation, but there didn’t seem to be one coming. He couldn’t catch his breath, and his hands were shaking. The man…thing… _Castiel_ …just stood there looking at him.

“What do you want?” Daryl finally asked, hating the thread of fear in his voice.

“You. You are needed.”

“Needed for what?”

Castiel sighed, and moved to sit in Daryl’s chair. Daryl forced himself to stay where he was and not step further away. “You are a vessel,” Castiel said, clasping his hands together and leaning his elbows on his knees. “A vessel is a human being with the ability to contain an angel’s essence. An angel requires a vessel to exist on your plane. If you agree and come with me now, you will become the living embodiment of an angel here on earth. Through you, an angel will be able to aid the fight against evil. We must muster all our strength now. These are dark times.”

“No shit,” Daryl spat. He was getting a grip on himself, anger edging out the fear. “That what you are? An angel?”

Castiel nodded.

“And you’re walking around inside some poor bastard?”

“He was honored to serve God’s plan.”

Daryl scoffed at that. “‘God’s plan’?” He jerked his chin back toward the prison. “Yeah, he’s doing a bang up job. Sign me up.”

Something like confusion flitted across Castiel’s face. “That was sarcasm.”

“You bet your ass it was.”

“Listen to me, Daryl. You are special. You were born for this. It is in your blood.”

“If it’s in my blood, then maybe you oughta go looking for my brother-”

“Merle would not be…suitable.”

Daryl stopped at that, throat catching. There was nothing in Castiel’s face, nothing that told Daryl what he wanted to know. He could ask. It would be simple enough. No matter the answer, at least he would know.

Instead, he said, “No.”

“Daryl, you must listen.”

“Fuck you.”

Castiel sighed again. He looked almost amused.

“What?”

“It’s nothing. You just remind me of a…a friend.”

“Yeah? Some other angel?”

“No, just a man. Angry and stubborn, but pure of heart. Like you. He, too, refused the call.”

Daryl snorted laughter, even though nothing about this was funny. “Guess he didn’t care much for God’s plan, neither.”

“We grow tired of asking, Daryl.”

“Then why don’t you fucking leave me alone!” Daryl dropped the crossbow then and took a step forward, making Castiel lean back to look up at him. “You think I need this shit? Noises and voices inside my head? Pushing at me? How many more times I gotta say no before you get the message?”

In the face of his rage, Castiel did not cringe. He merely sat there, watching him.

“If I’m so goddamn important, where the fuck were you? Where was my guardian angel when my mama burnt herself up, or when my daddy beat me bloody? Where were you when the world went to shit? When Merle got left behind? When Sophia…” Daryl had to stop then, taking a shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry, Daryl,” Castiel said quietly. “For too long we tried to keep our distance. Mistakes were made. We are trying, but there is a bigger picture. We need you.”

Shaking his head, Daryl turned away to look at the prison. He could just make out a light on in their cell block. Somebody up late. Maybe Glenn and Maggie, enjoying a little quiet time. Maybe Rick, unable to sleep. Maybe Carol or Beth, up to change Judith’s diaper or give her a bottle.

“No.”

“There is nothing I can say to change your mind, is there?”

“No.”

 _They need me too_ , he wanted to say. _They need me a hell of a lot more than the big picture._ He couldn’t say it, though. Not out loud. It was too much.

Behind him, Castiel stood. “Well, then, Daryl Dixon, I wish you the best of luck.”

“You gonna leave me alone from now on?”

There was no immediate answer, and Daryl glanced over to find that Castiel’s gaze had followed his to the light in the window. When Castiel met his eye again, he shrugged faintly. “I don’t know. We might just keep an eye on you, from time to time.”

Daryl went back to his chair and settled his crossbow back in his lap. “Yeah. You do that.”

There was a sound like the beating of wings, and he was alone again.

When the sun rose, he was there, waiting for it. A new day coming. Another chance. 

 

The End


End file.
